Welcome to Night Vale
by Dr. Edmund Sirus
Summary: Hello and good evening, dear listeners, and welcome to Night Vale. It is days like these that I am ever grateful to live in our small desert town. The moon is bright and full, the sun is hot and relentless, and the glow cloud that rained dead animals on our small town has finally moved on.


**Welcome to Night Vale**

Hello and good evening, dear listeners, and welcome to Night Vale. It is days like these that I am ever grateful to live in our small desert town. The moon is bright and full, the sun is hot and relentless, and the glow cloud that rained dead animals on our small town has finally moved on.

This is the voice of Night Vale radio, Cecil.

To start things off, I am told this morning's acid rain clouds cast mysterious lights on the ground for approximately four minutes. Geode Turner, a local farmer, sketched the shapes and colors they made before blood began hemorrhaging from his eyes. Several mysterious soldiers from an unknown but still nefarious government agency have been passing out fliers encouraging pony households to come outside, assuring everyone it is safe to let our children play in the alien geometrics. Nurse Cortex says Mister Turner will make a full recovery, despite him now speaking in a language not on record. Nurse Cortex assured me these symptoms will pass.

And now the news. A banner of Princess Celestia came to life after the acid rain fell. When the lovely two dimensional copy began knocking on doors and asking for help, the baker Whisk invited the paper princess inside for cupcakes. The princess says they are too sweet and need to be in the oven for another two minutes.

Several griffonic patrols passed overhead today. When questioned, the Night Vale secret police demanded at gunpoint that inquirers return to their homes or previous destinations before placing several floodlights in the park. When the local gardener Sunny Day pressed for more information, she had a bag thrown over her head, was thrown into a carriage without windows, and a padlock on the door for her own safety. What nice police, providing lights for lost griffons and caring so studiously for the elderly.

Has anyone seen the glowing cloud turning against the wind? Please do not be afraid; the secret police assure me that this was expected, as were the sounds of screaming, whistling, and laughing children it emits. Although the glow cloud's occasional encounters with our desert hamlet incur madness and random acts of glow cloud worship at four percent more than the national average, I firmly believe it is harmless. The Night Vale meteorologists are currently under investigation for corruption for letting the police do their jobs for them.

The four delinquents that destroyed thirty lockers in the Night Vale gymnasium are currently cleaning up the blood leaking from Honey Darling's house, the local candymaker, as a public service punishment. I have been asked by Honey herself to state she is willing to pay anypony five bits an hour or their own selection of sweets at the end of the day to clean the blood leaking from her walls, porch, and sacrificial daggers. Just think about it, parents. Rather than having your children sit inside doing nothing or unsupervised in acid rain puddles covered in alien lights, they can start earning their own keep and prepare themselves for the capitalist troubles of adulthood.

A rash of mistitled posters across town has warranted this public service announcement. There is a very real difference between the Night Vale secret police and the nefarious government agency that patrols the streets. The secret police is under the payroll of the sheriff and wears blue uniforms. The nefarious government agency is always staffed by bat ponies and the general consensus is that prolonged eye contact with them causes the pony to hear the sound of children's lamenting screams. Remember, you do not want ponies getting your job description wrong. Treat others the way you wish to be treated.

While Night Vale remains in the middle of the Mild West Desert, several fossils of strange fish skeletons were discovered four miles west of town. Although originally encased in rock, the earlier acid rain melted the surface layer of stone. Mister Beaker and his amazing hair investigated and declared that they were an ancient race of fish/pony hybrids. There is no word about whether or not this event is related to the unearthed tentacle beast discovered in the neighboring town of Appaloosa.

Speaking of Beaker, he has asked me to revise his previous statement from yesterday. The acid rain cloud's death count is not six as previously thought. The number is closer to negative twenty four. Against all odds, the recently deceased rose from Night Vale cemetery and returned to their homes. There is currently no scientific reason for the uprising and no permits for necromancy were approved by the City Council. Four risen ponies have joined together to sue the sheriff's secret police for auctioning off their property after their supposed death. Strangely enough, the lawsuit was dropped at the same time four new plots of land were purchased in the cemetery.

Meanwhile, my source in the secret police alerted me that the griffon patrol was actually a flying gelatinous creature. My contact then started breathing heavily into the receiver before emitting a scream which I can only describe as "the soul being rent in twain by dark magic." No word from Mr. Beaker about any relation between the gelatinous creature and his fish.

The Night Vale School Board claimed it will undergo review about rescheduling their live fire exercises during hours other than their recess hours, pending parent feedback. I have been told that parents who suggest that the live fire exercises should be moved will receive a complimentary carepackage from the board. Recipients are encouraged to open the package in small, flammable places devoid of any witnesses. You don't want people getting jealous of your gift now, don't you? This message is brought to you by the School Board.

Hmmm... intern Boom is passing me a notice right now... Ah, very well. The City Council in their everlasting wisdom and infinite mercy have commandeered the underground replica of City Hall accessed via the sewer manhole on the corner of Bluff Avenue and 3rd Main Street. A city-wide mandatory radiation testing and blood tests for: blood-born pathogens, necrotic parasites, spontaneous combustion, stomach flu, and telepathic tampering will be held there as Night Vale secret police go door to door, rounding up ponies for testing. I encourage citizens to submit to the City Council's friendly suggestion and the secret police enforcing their edicts, mostly because the City Council has never steered us wrong and Boom has been turned into a pile of ash by a strange green light emanating from the floor. And now it is gone. Listeners and parents of Boom, I wish to let you know of my thanks for his service to community radio and journalistic integrity. He was a competent, enthusiastic member of the team and will be dearly missed.

And now for sports. The Night Vale Vipers hoofball game tonight against the Appaloosan Tumbleweeds was postponed after an unnamed linebacker exploded into a cloud of red slugs. The slugs then proceeded to one by one latch themselves onto the throats of the opposing team until they were gathered up by the official and drowned in a twenty gallon cooler of Gatorade. The Tumbleweeds lodged a complaint of unsportsmanlike conduct and were awarded a penalty kick for each affected player. The Vipers are banned from the league for the rest of the year. What an asshole linebacker, ruining the fun for everyone else.

The Night Vale Council for Commerce and Tourism Board have both approved the plan to build a five hundred million bit hoofball stadium in order to both draw in revenue with games, and to have an area devoid of the exploding cacti so prevalent in the open, rocky wasteland south of town generally used for practice. Personally, I think this will be good for Night Vale and bring in some proper attention to the local businesses. Ever since the dog park, the secret police drive-in coffee shop, the abandoned mineshaft outside of town, and the mysterious shape in the middle of the center square fountain were destroyed in a series of mysterious arson fires, Night Vale has been sorely lacking in out-of-towners eager to sample local customs, landmarks, cuisine, and Honey's delectable sweets.

Back to the news. The other intern, Daisy Showers, has finished sweeping up Boom for the traditional burial in the break room and handed me a notice. It appears the flying gelatinous creature has nested at the very top of the radio tower. The sheriff's secret police and several hooded figures have surrounded the radio tower. I'm looking out the window now. My, there are a lot of them. I even see the paper princess outside. She's eating a cookie. I'm not quite sure how. Now Daisy is telling me to leave my station, saying tendrils of black death ooze are slowly changing the halls into a twisted, noneuclidean hell world. Perhaps it might be best to leave for a moment. Yes, I do believe this is enough for tonight's show. Yes, the door to my station is now turning into a viscous black gel. I know not what the gelatinous creature is doing to the station, but I believe it best to evacuate until Station Management says otherwise.

Now for some closing thoughts. I do love this little town of ours. Night Vale is an old town rich in history, despite that one hooded pony stealing children and no one being physically able to stop him, or the fact that Changelings avoid Night Vale due to some accusation of unicorn black sorcery. At least I think the figure is a he; it is quite difficult to see past the abysmal black void underneath the hood. Nevertheless, every town has their fair share of oddballs. The unicorns still read at the library despite the poltergeist. The earth ponies still harvest the dry, barren lands when not making trade deals with those suspicious Appaloosan hillbillies. The pegasi still stay on the ground to avoid the acid rain and glow clouds. We stick together, even through the worst of times and harshest of economic downturns. The wheel of time has finished turning one more day. Well done, Night Vale. We have survived one more cycle of the sun and moon. Goodnight listeners.

Goodnight.

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_I'm terrified of this place. However, I'm more scared of _**not **_being terrified of this place._

_~Professor Beaker_

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Comments are not only welcome, but encouraged!

For further information and chapter commentary, visit my page on Fimfiction under the username: Journeyman

Crossover with Night Vale

Edited by: Reader Review, Genesis1212

Prereader: Softy8088


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